


Buried

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bondage, Castiel Whump, Collars, Dean/others (dreamed), Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Gags, Grace-Powered Orgasms, Hand Jobs, Hurt Castiel, Kissing, M/M, Mummification, Non-Consensual Bondage, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Dean Winchester, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sensory Deprivation, Stolen Grace, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-02-18 10:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: Witches capture and restrain Cas, mummifying him in anti-angel bindings. Dean loses his shit when he can't find his okay-maybe-i-do-love-him best friend.





	1. Above

**Author's Note:**

> another spn kink meme prompt that’s been ricocheting around my head like a sentient pinball.
> 
> uuhhhhm i tagged non-con for witches doing bad things, and for dreamed things, not for the destiel. In case you were wondering. The destiel will be all the nice tags up there ^^^
> 
> Many thanks to both [gertiecraign](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GertieCraign) and [hazeldomain](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelDomain) for betaing this!
> 
> There is nsfw art in chapter three, so be careful when scrolling in public!

The coven knew he was coming. And, even worse, they knew how to stop him. Castiel had barely arrived before he had been efficiently disabled, disarmed and disrobed, with a thick metal band tightened around his neck. The band sizzled slightly against his skin and he was going to have to have some words with Dean about who was melting angel blades down to forge Enochian talismans. As soon as he got out of this unplanned disaster, of course.

“Stop this!” he tried to warn, but with his grace sequestered behind the angel-proof collar it was all too easy for the women to get him restrained. One of his arms was yanked away, and held at the small of his back as his other arm was strapped to it. He gripped his own elbows and struggled, and was entirely unprepared for the ache in his shoulders as his grace failed to soothe the uncomfortable position. The leather began to heat, as though the magic contained within was powering up against him. He twisted and shook in the witch’s arms, trying to get a glimpse of the restraints or some loose end to take advantage of. He could just make out the Enochian carved into the leather.

One of the witches saw him looking at the inscriptions. “His eyes,” she hissed, and a tight black mask was jammed down over his head.

“You must cease your activities,” he said desperately, facing the place he was sure the coven leaders were standing and speaking loud enough so that they could all hear. Someone walked closer and he turned towards the sound of their approaching steps. “Your spells will not protect you from the demon you summon. Please! Let me help you. I can—” Whatever he could do to help was cut off as something heavy was shoved into his mouth. It was uncomfortably hot against his sensitive tongue, made of the same leather as the restraints, and he tried unsuccessfully to spit it out. Someone spoke a few words of Latin, the start of a spell, and the leather expanded, conforming to the inside of his mouth until his tongue was pressed uselessly down, and his cheeks were bulging slightly. The metal collar tightened simultaneously, until it was snugged right around his neck. He shook his head instinctively but neither item budged. He could feel tiny carvings against his tongue, and when he shouted, not a single sound came out.

Someone grabbed his shoulder and pushed him, and he put out a foot to stop himself falling, then another, and another. When he realised they were forcing him to walk he kicked out and was rewarded with a fist buried in his stomach. The women were small but without his grace the punch hurt. A lot. His vessel began to suck ragged breaths in through his nose. If the witches wanted to cause him pain he would be incapable of resisting. He would feel everything that was done to the vessel even though no injury would ever kill him.

They could hurt him endlessly and he would never die.

He stumbled as the wooden floor beneath his feet gave way to unexpected steps, and then to grass and rocky soil. He tried to backpedal but unforgiving hands pushed him further, and further. They didn’t care when he tripped, or when the rocks bit into his unprotected soles. He was forced to walk, naked and mute, without even knowing where they were taking him.

Long minutes passed before he was stopped and pushed down onto his stomach. The air through his nose smelled like wet dirt and leaf litter. He must be far into the woods behind the suburban street. With his arms behind him he couldn’t get the right angle to lift his head, and every breath through his nose was laboured. Technically he didn’t _need_ oxygen but the years spent in a human vessel had acclimatised him to breathing normally, and having even some of his agency removed had his vessel’s heart rate spiking. He tried to get his knees beneath him.

A boot pressed down against the small of his back, anticipating his attempts to escape and squashing him down into the dirt. Something snapped into place around his left ankle and immediately started to heat up. Another went around his right ankle and he could tell that he was being restrained with more anti-angel devices. He tried to kick out but he had no leverage and he was easily pressed into the position the witches wanted him. His knees were bent until his calves could be strapped against his thighs, which put the burning ankle bindings against his naked ass. He whimpered mutely, trying desperately to reach even a particle of his grace. He was not used to discomfort and with every new binding he was rapidly losing any chance of escape.

_Stop! I can help you!_

They didn’t respond to his silent pleas, choosing instead to lay a sheet of something clingy across his bent legs. He jerked on the wet dirt but that didn’t stop them from twisting the clingy thing into place, starting from his knees and travelling upwards, with unkind hands pushing and shoving to get the stuff around him. It felt like thick plastic wrap, and it hugged tight as the hands swathed him in it.

At his hips, small hands delicately lifted his soft cock, pressing it up against his stomach. He jerked uselessly and was unable to stop the plastic from binding him into place here, too, though with one addition. As she pulled her hands away Castiel could feel another metal device circling the head of his cock. As with the thing around his neck, it began to heat up, and instantly conformed to his shape, making him writhe. Surprisingly, it wasn’t painful. It was… good. It seemed almost to hum at the exact wavelength of his grace, and for a moment he thought it was a device for pleasure, until his grace began to respond, trickling towards it. It continued to hum and his grace, instead of damming up against the restraints, began to leak out of him.

His next breath stuttered in his chest and he went rigid, cold fury sweeping his spine. If he’d had control of his body, he would have killed every person present. They were _using_ him. Using his grace. _Milking_ it out of him. He yanked and tugged and fought but the tiny metal band continued to hum, drawing his grace towards it. He couldn’t draw it back. The trickle was slow, barely enough to make a difference, but it was a sacrilege nonetheless. A _humiliation._ To be tied down and… and _used._ He didn’t even know what they were using him _for._

He howled, silent and useless.

The hands continued to wrap him, pulling the plastic tight as it wound around him until every inch of his bare skin was covered, leaving only a sliver in front of his nose. Conversely, this made him feel even more vulnerable. He could no longer feel the breeze or even the sharp rocks beneath him, and could barely move any of his limbs. Even if an opportunity for escape presented itself he would not be able to take it.

Hands and boots shoved at his side until he rolled onto his back, squashing his feet and arms awkwardly. He breathed deep through his nose but he wasn’t given enough time to appreciate the clean air until he was shoved again, and unceremoniously toppled over an edge he hadn’t been aware of, landing against his shoulder only a few feet down. He could _feel_ his throat working around a scream, but the hot leather in his mouth stopped him from voicing it, and the only sound was an ominous _crack_ from his shoulder. His grace did not go to heal him, but continued to trickle out of him as the warm device on his cock sang.

Hands rearranged him until he was on his stomach again, and he started writhing as much as the bindings would allow. His shoulder ached alarmingly but he forced himself to ignore it. He knocked his knees against packed-dirt on either side of his body, and when he wriggled forward he hit more dirt in front. Was he in some kind of hole?

Something heavy landed across his back, and with a flash of fear he realised what was happening.

He was in a grave.

And they were burying him alive.

He screamed soundlessly and thrashed, suddenly desperate. No one knew where he was and he would never die. He would be buried forever. Another shovelful of dirt hit him across the shoulders and he struggled to shake it off. Another landed on his legs. Another against his back. Another on the top of his head. He couldn’t get it off fast enough. It was landing against his sides, too. Packing him in. The plastic that encased him made it impossible to wriggle free as the dirt stacked up around him and, slowly but surely, began to pile on top of him. He jerked and bucked and screamed, but the rain of dirt didn’t stop, and no one came to save him.

The bindings on his wrists and ankles became unbearably hot, and even the metal around his cock and neck started to heat even further. His shoulder ached as well, though he could do nothing to alleviate the pain.

The metal on his cock was so in-tune with his grace that his vessel kept getting confused signals of euphoria, and the rush of pleasure made his fear even worse. He was being buried. He was being pleasured. No one knew he was here.

Eventually the weight made it impossible to move his body, and, soon after, he tried to draw a breath through his nose and found that he couldn’t. There was nothing but the trickle of his grace, the heat of the bindings, and his silent, motionless panic.

He felt pressed down from all sides. The sound of dirt piling up became ever-more distant, and eventually even that stopped. He imagined what the forest floor would look like. Smooth and wet and unbroken. There would be no evidence that he had ever been there.

He pictured the layers of dirt piled above him, and something inside him broke.

 

* * *

 

Time passed, but he stayed.

The weight became unbearable.

The heat became unbearable.

The constant pressure, the constant pleasure.

He counted the days in the comings and goings of the life around him, assuming that the beetles and worms were mostly nocturnal. He lost count somewhere after fifteen, and again somewhere after ten.

He drifted.

His cock hummed and his grace answered.

 

* * *

 

He concocted elaborate escape plans, but they always relied on having a finger free, or a bit of grace. He wildly imagined that he no longer had a vessel. He could ascend.

But it was a fantasy.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, he prayed.

To Chuck, mostly.

And then, when that didn’t work, to Dean.

_Thy kingdom come_

_Thy will be done._

_Dean._

 

* * *

 

No one answered.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt [here](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/124792.html?thread=43985016#t43985016). If you want spoilers.
> 
> Prompted by my new favourite anon. Hello friend! Sorry this took so long!


	2. Below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaah yes so um... sorry for the delay. I thought this was going to be a wham-bam-thank-you-maam fic but it turned out to be an oh-shit-they-have-feelings fic so... yeah...  
> Honestly this would have been delayed even longer if not for hazeldomain and gertiecraign who i think read _multiple_ iterations of the next two chapters. Eep.  
>  Also special thanks to gertie's clenched butthole ;)
> 
> As always please mind the tags.

Dean pressed his knife into her throat and growled. His reflection in her glasses was all bared teeth and feral snarl. Someone here _knew something_ and he wouldn’t leave until he ripped the information out of their god damn _throats_.

“WHERE IS HE?”

The witch was white around the eyes but she kept her lips pressed together.

He leaned in close. “You think your demon friend is scarier than me, huh?” His teeth were inches from her face. “Well I can play that game too.” She was wearing a hex bag around her neck and he flicked the knife over to the metal chain that kept it closed. “This thing keeping you safe, sweetheart?” She glared at him until he pulled the chain tight, putting the knife beneath so a single flick of his wrist would snap it. Her eyes widened. “Got your attention now?” He pulled tighter. “You tell me where the angel is or I’ll break your little safety charm and then you can play dice with your demon friend. Reckon it’ll be happy to get its hands on you after you’ve been forcing it to do your dirty work.” He tugged to make his point.

“Don’t!” she gasped.

“Where’s the angel?”

She mumbled something beneath her breath.

“WHERE?”

“Out… Out the back. Beneath the herb garden.”

“Beneath the _what?_ ”

“The, the—oh christ, watch your hand—beneath the herb garden. The grace, it… helps fertilisation.”

Dean felt the beginnings of white numbing fury in the tips of his fingers. “It. Helps. With. _WHAT?_ ” She moaned in terror. His knife was straining against her necklace. “You kidnapped an angel for a fucking PIECE OF _LETTUCE?”_

He honestly didn’t mean to, but the chain finally snapped under the pressure from his knife, and instantly black liquid started seeping from her eyes, ears and nose. She screamed as whatever demon she had been using found her. There was no saving her now.

He pressed the knife against her throat to end her suffering quickly, but then he remembered Cas, and all the months he’d been missing, and he pulled the blade back. If Sam felt like finishing he could put a bullet in her, but he wasn’t about to let her get off that easy.

 

* * *

 

At the beginning, Castiel had imagined his rescue. He had pictured it so clearly that for indeterminate days he swore he could hear Sam’s voice talking to him, and Dean telling him it would be okay.

But it was his mind playing tricks on him. There was no rescue. Only scurrying noises in the dirt from tiny creatures going about their tiny lives.

The thing on his cock was singing, so in harmony with his grace that the trickle of it leaving him felt almost natural, even though he knew it wasn’t. It kept him on the precipice of orgasm. He couldn’t stop it.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t see.

He couldn’t breathe.

And, worst of all… he couldn’t die.

 

* * *

 

Time made bizarre patterns on the insides of his eyelids. He replayed an entire movie in his mind, word for word, repeating it until he was sure he had gotten every line.

He would never know if it was right, though.

_It’s not the years, honey. It’s the mileage._

It had been Dean’s favourite movie.

They had watched it together.

_You want to talk to God? Let’s go see him together!_

A laugh bubbled up in his chest, but it had nowhere to go.

_I’m losing my mind._

 

* * *

 

Something crawled into the wrappings on his arm. A beetle, maybe. Or a worm. He hoped it would bite him. Anything. He asked it to. He told it to get help. He yelled at it.

Eventually he realised that he was not yelling. He couldn’t make a sound.

The beetle crawled away.

Later,

he wondered

if it had been there at all.

 

* * *

 

His vessel was hot. Except it wasn’t his vessel anymore. It was _him._ He needed… something. Release. He conjured images of Dean without even meaning to.

In his mind, it was Dean’s hand around his cock.

In his mind, Dean’s tongue was red and wet and warm.

It made him hotter.

But brought him no closer to completion.

In his mind, Dean kissed him for hours. Days. The rest of his life.

 

* * *

 

He built fantasies to slip into. Some of them were carefree. Dean smiling at him over the top of a book. Dean’s hand finding his. Dean laughing at some joke. But then the ring around his cock hummed and the fantasies morphed. Dean’s smile turned sultry. Dean’s hand crept down to where Castiel wanted it most.

 

* * *

 

He relived memories and saw things he hadn’t seen before. Dean watching him. Lingering glances. The brush of hands. He could have explained them away, but he had all the time to analyse and reanalyse every precise detail. The exact way Dean’s lips had curled up whenever their eyes met. He saw desire that he hadn’t noticed at the time. He saw longing, too. And lust. And he wondered how long Dean had been exhibiting unrequited sentiments. Or if he even knew he harboured them.

The images slipped past each other, and they were both a torment and a comfort.

He would never get the chance to explain that they weren’t unrequited.

 

* * *

 

He gave up his hope, and his sanity, and eventually the passage of time became unnecessary, so he gave that up too, and drifted timeless.

_Let the hours pass in the same fashion as the years._

He hoped the centuries would slip by unnoticed. Was Dean even looking for him?

 

* * *

 

Never had he wished for human things so intensely. The ability to sleep.

The ability to die.

“Help me get this shit off him.”

 

* * *

 

Dean stalked out the back and snarled. The garden was straight out of a postcard, with its perfectly mowed grass and its immaculate flower beds. He suppressed the urge to douse the whole thing in gasoline and light it up. That could wait 'til after he’d found Cas.

There were no clear paths, but muddy footprints led downward, and Dean followed them with his gun out front. He was going to be shooting first and asking questions later.

Sam caught up to him a few minutes later, blood on his jacket. Together they found a patch of soil where bulbs and flowers sprouted energetically. Some were already knee-high. Dean clenched his fist and had to take a steadying breath.

“He’s down there,” he managed through gritted teeth.

At least Sam didn’t ask how Dean knew. “I’ll get the shovels, then.” Dean grunted and got to his knees. The dirt was wet and immediately soaked through his jeans. He cursed the whole godawful garden and started ripping shit out with his hands. He told each and every herb to go fuck itself and left them in shredded piles behind him until Sam came back, shovels in hand. He refused to think about how the shovels were usually used to dig up graves. This wasn’t a grave. Cas was _alive,_ dammit. He had to be. Dean would have him back and every witch in the nearest fifty mile radius was going to have an appointment with his fist.

For all his impatience, they couldn’t dig quickly. If Cas really was under there somewhere then the witches had obviously done something to his grace. If they accidentally hit him with a shovel there was no telling how much damage they might do. They had to pry the soil out one cautious shovelful at a time, and Dean couldn’t get the glower off his face.

A fucking _herb garden._

As they dug deeper they came across roots of varying length and thickness. Each one sickened him. He didn’t know much about vegetables or seeding or anything, but he knew that roots took time to grow. How long had Cas been down there? Their last communication with him had been months ago, but no way he had been trapped that whole time, right? What if Cas was gone? What if they were too late?

His chest squeezed, and he plowed on. It wasn’t possible. He would have felt something. No way had the world brought them together only to cut them apart before Dean could even figure his own feelings out. Because of course it had taken months of separation for him to finally acknowledge that the way he loved Cas was different to the way he loved Sam. And now there was a chance that Cas was dead, or maybe there was a chance that he was alive and only a few feet away. His adrenaline didn’t know which way to spike.

They kept digging.

“Maybe he isn’t down here anymore?” Sam ventured hopefully, after a solid hour had resulted in no traces of angel.

“Maybe,” Dean conceded. He picked up a lump of compacted dirt, and kneaded it between his fingers. It felt… weird… and for a moment he couldn’t put his finger on the cause. He looked down. Picked up another lump. “It’s _warm,_ ” he said, shocked. He got to his knees and started digging with his hands, plunging his fingers into the soil. No way was dirt supposed to be _warm_.

Sure enough, his fingers connected with something that was both soft and solid, which sent a wave of tingles up his arm. Tingles that felt a bit like… grace? _Please be Cas, please be Cas._ He started throwing dirt aside, until a plastic-wrapped shoulder became visible. He had never been so ecstatic over a shoulder in his whole god damn life. And it was him, it had to be. Warm and tingly. “Cas! Sam, it’s, it’s him, it’s… shit, I think he’s alive!”

“Oh, _thank god.”_

Dean grabbed the shoulder and hauled, so giddy he didn’t even pause to wonder about the plastic until he uncovered the rest of Cas’s arm, which was weirdly angled behind his back. “What the…” The plastic was thick and had probably been clear at some stage, though it was now heavy with moisture and darkened by organic matter. Dean tried to wriggle a hand beneath it, but couldn’t find anywhere loose enough. And his arm was going numb from whatever grace Cas was leaking. “Sam, what the hell is this stuff?”

“Get him in the light. Come on, help me pull him out.”

Pulling him out was easier said than done. Sam clambered up first, and then reached down to grab him as Dean haphazardly hauled him up. It was messy and dirty and everyone got a faceful of wet leaves, but it was worth it to finally get Cas out of the hole. The sun was just starting to set, and it cast a long shadow behind the pile of dirt, where Cas’s body lay motionless like some kind of awful plastic ornament. They used their hands to brush the last of the soil off, and Dean almost gagged as the encased body of their friend was slowly revealed. The plastic wrap covered him entirely. Even his head. His legs had been bent at the knee, making him small enough to fit in the hole. He looked tiny and vulnerable and not at all like an angel. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t _breathing._

Beneath the plastic Dean could just make out even more bindings wrapping around his friend. He flicked his knife open with a snarl.

“Help me get this shit off him.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be a four chapter fic depending on how horny my muse is but honestly i know as much as you do. Could go either way. Adjust expectations accordingly.


	3. Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas wakes up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a cute fic to ease me back after kinktober and it's now APRIL. Good lord.
> 
> Thanks to gertiecraign for betaing all fifteen iterations of this chapter and not once throwing a laptop at my face when I kept changing it.
> 
> Scroll to the end to see awesome fanart from @oddsocksandstuff  
> Warning for semi nsfw!!

In his dreams Dean was ever-present.

“Come on, Cas, wake up.” They were in bed together and Dean was impatient. Wrapped up in limbs and blankets and whatever mess they had made the night before. He was urging Castiel into the morning with kisses against the back of his neck and both hands on his hips.

“Good morning,” Castiel hummed, rolling into him, against him. The press of their bodies was so intangible as to be almost non-existent, but Castiel smiled over his shoulder anyway, and let the dream-Dean turn him over to clamber on top.

“Why won’t you wake up?”

“So needy,” Castiel chided. “I’m awake now.” Dean’s weight on top of him was nearly real. When their lips met Castiel could almost taste him. The memory of whiskey on his tongue. His cock hummed as if in agreement and Castiel surged into the warm pliant body above him, suddenly desperate. The thing stealing his grace always pushed his dreams fast and faster and he was powerless to stop it. Sometimes he didn’t want to. Between one moment and the next they were naked and though neither one of them was truly inside the other they rocked together as though they were.

There was no satisfaction here, no final release, but Castiel could imagine it anyway. Dean’s face morphing in pleasure to match Castiel’s own. He moaned into Dean’s waiting lips, and it was almost enough.

Dean’s face was pressed against his when he whispered into Castiel’s ear. “I miss you,” he said, and suddenly the mirage was nothing like the original. It was all the things that didn’t exist between them. It was mocking him

“You’re not real,” he told the dream-Dean, and it leaned back to smile sadly at him with Dean’s face.

“No,” it agreed, “But I do miss you.”

The mirage flickered and for the briefest moment Castiel could have sworn it wasn’t a dream. That it really was Dean, smiling down at him, a hand on his cheek, begging him to come back. But there was no one there. Just the humming theft of his grace. Just his own imagination in the darkness.

He let the dream-Dean fall back into his arms. He let it kiss him as though it was making itself real through sheer force of will. He let it touch him as though the pleasure stemming from his cock was something they’d created. After, as they lay in a bed that was also a dream, the thing that looked like Dean rested its head on the place where Castiel’s heart might have been.

“Can you even hear me?” it asked, a hand like smoke against his ribs.

 

* * *

 

He dreamed, and dreamed, and when something changed it happened so fast he missed it. The fleeting impression of hands had him cringing

“Sam, I saw him move!”

but then it was dark again.

“He’s still sleeping. Leave him alone.”

 

* * *

 

His arms were flat by his side. Not his dream-arms, but his real ones. The arms of his vessel. It took him far too long to notice. And when he did he didn’t dare move them in case they were actually still bound. If this was some new hallucination then he didn’t want it to stop.

And then later, or maybe earlier, he realised that his legs were also straight. He was wearing pants.

_I’ve lost my mind._

 

 

_Please let it stay lost._

 

* * *

 

Something cold touched his face, and some long forgotten instinct made him flinch, gasping.

Except this time he knew for sure that he was hallucinating, because he felt his lungs fill. The collar was hot around his neck.

“Sam! He just breathed! I swear I just saw him breathe!”

Fingers pried his eyelids open and after so long in the dark it was too much, too much, too much. Colours mad around him. Kaleidoscope. An Egyptian tomb. Snake eyes. Dean’s nose.

His cock was still humming. His grace had nowhere to go except to trickle into the hands on his face.

“He’s not responding.”

“I saw him breath, Sam! _I saw it.”_

Why were they talking so fast.

He fought to go back to the dark.

 

* * *

 

The hallucinations lost their indistinct quality. Instead of half-created stories, and reimagined memories, he saw the cracking plaster of the bunker’s ceiling. The impression of fingers instead of restraints against the inside of his wrists. Some part of his body insisted that these new dreams were real, but he knew it wasn’t so. Whenever a fleeting image presented itself he struggled to not latch on. To let it go. If he thought too hard then the world would slow down and these new hallucinations would stop entirely and he would be buried again.

He let the dreams move around him.

 

* * *

 

But he couldn’t make it last forever. When the world finally slowed down he was in a bed, on his back, with his head tipped sideways. The collar was around his neck and his grace hummed soundlessly as it trickled away, just out of reach. Dean was sitting in the chair next to him, reading. Castiel didn’t even need to move. He watched. It felt like he had been watching for days.

What a nice dream.

Eventually Dean looked over.

“Heya, Cas,” he said wearily. “Today one of your staring days, huh? You gonna wake up for me this time?”

_I hope not._

Dean smiled. So sad. Lips like the underside of an autumn leaf. How had he forgotten that colour?

This wasn’t like his usual dreams.

Dean turned back to his book, but his hand strayed down to Castiel’s, curling gently around his fingers. Castiel stared at it. He could _feel_ the pressure. The gentle rubbing of Dean’s thumb across the backs of his knuckles. Not at all like the incorporeal mirage he had created for himself.

All the dreams of Dean’s lips, and his skin, and their bodies lined up in every possible way … they were wisps of nothing compared to the callous-rough press of familiar fingertips against his palm.

The thing on his cock—whatever it was—told him that what he wanted was to be naked and yielding, to have Dean against him. It told him to imagine himself into a place where what he wanted could be made. It told him to ignore the tantalising promise of reality, to sink back to a place where there was no danger, where he could touch and be touched without the risk of returning to the unyielding dark. Because surely if he moved then the dream would collapse and he would be alone again.

Dean’s thumb rubbed idly, and his fingers slipped into the loose grip of Castiel’s hand, squeezing for just a moment.

And it was worth the risk. Even if it sent him back to the buried dirt.

Castiel squeezed back.

The world didn’t go black, but it did go sideways. Dean lunged for him. The chair clattered away.

He lost track of time.

 

* * *

 

When he caught up he found that Dean was leaning over him. Knees at his hips.

_Are you even here?_

“Cas! Cas, can you hear me? Are you awake?”

_Am I?_

The time leap wasn’t so big. Castiel was on his back, but Dean was above him. Fingers still curled together. Castiel could _feel_ him. He squeezed again.

“Sam! SAM!”

It was happening too fast. He felt the thread of time slip away from him and for once he struggled to remember how to keep it. A door slammed somewhere nearby.

“Stay with me!”

He was in the bunker, and Dean was holding his hand like they were falling. He was breathing heavily, and it was natural to match him, drawing a breath from the air between them.

“Sam!”

“I saw it that time! Cas, Cas can you hear me?”

Castiel blinked, syrup-slow. Couldn’t make himself faster. He’d spent too long trying to make time pass, and now he couldn’t catch up.

It wasn’t a dream.

“Cas, if you can hear me, I need you to tell us how to remove the collar.”

Another blink.

“Ask him again!”

“Cas! How do we remove it?”

His free hand was lifted to press against the hot metal, making him sick with vertigo. His cock hummed. Grace leaked out of him. There were too many competing sensations.

“Cas! _How do we get the collar off?_ ”

They were trying to help. It wasn’t a dream. He knew the answer.

He turned to look over at Sam, but by the time his head made it around, there was no one there. The world was going by too fast.

He turned his head the other way, and Dean was asleep in the chair. Days had passed. He’d missed his chance.

Their hands were still finger-zipped together.

He squeezed, and Dean woke up.

“Witch tears,” he rasped.

Time slipped away.

 

* * *

 

This time the dreams were washed out and greying. The walls were indistinct and the only thing with any colour was Dean.

“Don’t leave,” the real-Dean-dream-Dean begged, fingers like talons in Castiel’s hair.

“You’re not real,” Castiel reminded it, though he couldn’t be sure. He reached up to clasp its shoulder, where the imprint of his hand would appear if he dreamed hard enough.

It pressed against him, but the weight of it was no more than a breath of wind. “I’m real enough,” it whispered. It tucked itself between his knees until he spread them, giving it room to crawl down, shouldering itself beneath his thighs until his heels were pressing against its back. “This is as real as you’ll ever get,” it promised, voice hot on the underside of Castiel’s cock, where the ring of metal hummed as though in agreeance. “If you leave you’ll never have me again.” It kissed the inside of his leg, then bit down, though Castiel barely felt it. But then it lifted itself onto its elbows and looked up at him through lowered lashes, its mouth opened wide as it took him in and that… that he felt.

“Dean.” _Stop. Don’t ever stop._

He knew that it wasn’t really Dean between his legs. That it wasn’t Dean’s hand creeping up to cradle his testicles while his cock worked ever further down its throat. The pleasure was manufactured, a symptom brought by the harmony of his wavelengths, focused at the humming metal band. But it would be so easy to let himself believe it was the real thing.

It hollowed its cheeks and pressed its tongue against the metal, licking up until just the tip of Castiel’s cock was in its mouth. It parted its lips so he could see where he was resting spit-shiny and heavy on its tongue.

He tangled his fingers into its hair and pulled it up. His cock fell from its lips, though it stayed crouched around his midriff. “If you leave you’ll never come back,” it said. “So stay.” It wrapped its hand around him, and even though he could feel the ghost of that hand he knew, he _knew_ it was only his imagination. That it was just some remnant resurgence of a fight or flight response; his survival mode kicking in. Some part of him was too scared to leave the dreams only to find out that the other Dean wasn’t real, either.

He traced a ghostly cheekbone with one finger. _“Dean,”_ he murmured.

 _“Cas,”_ some ghost said in reply.

It would be so easy. To take this wisp of the true Dean and never risk the real world again. He could build a world around them and he could stay. It didn’t matter if he was buried. It didn’t matter if his vessel rotted and the world fell away. He could stay, he could stay.

Somewhere outside of the dream, a hand found his, and squeezed. Calloused fingers against his palm.

The fingers of his vessel squeezed back.

“I’m not staying.” He said it out loud even as he realised it, and then he said it again, louder, staring at the dream as he did. “I’m not staying,” he told it. He coiled himself like a spring and imagined himself launching out of the grey-drab dream, back to the place where the other Dean, the real one, would be waiting.

But his dreams were stronger than he gave them credit for. “DON’T LEAVE!” the dream-Dean screamed, and its hands turned to claws and its lips turned red as blood and it opened its mouth wide and its tongue was forked and writhing and it crawled up him to drip green poison on his face. “DON’T LEAVE ME!”

Castiel tried to shove it away but it disappeared like a dandelion in the wind, only to recoalesce on the other side of his hand, even more terrible than before. Its hair grew longer and it lost the freckles scattered across its nose, and when it reached for him again it was with the face of a witch.

“No,” Castiel moaned. “Not… not you.” He struggled backwards but it was like fighting water, and she smiled as though his efforts were puerile.

“I can make you stay,” she promised coldly, and then there were dozens of them. Laughing and sneering and looking on as his heavy limbs refused to fight them. “Hush now,” someone said, and there was a blindfold in her hand and she was reaching for him and he couldn’t fight, and she pressed the fabric against his eyes, his nose, until there wasn’t a speck of light left. He arched away but suddenly he wasn’t on his back, he was on his stomach and his ankles were pressed to his thighs and his elbows were behind him and there was pressure all around, packed in against his sides and the back of his head. It had all been a dream and he had never left and no one had come looking for him and there would never be a single smiling face ever again. He screamed but nothing came out, and the bindings burned hot against his skin and his grace leaked useless into the dirt that surrounded him and he was a fool, a fool, a fool, a…

_Cas!_

A hand found his in the darkness and it squeezed so hard he thought bones might be cracking, but he grabbed it like a lifeline and tugged and tugged and tugged until it tugged back.

“YOU CAN’T LEAVE!” shrieked the witches but someone else said his name again, quick and urgent and right against his ear and he surged towards it, begging it closer until the dream shattered around him.

Time stretched out absurdly, and then crushed down into nothing, and then unspooled itself like yarn, finally finally coming back to him in the way it was always intended to.

He opened his eyes for the last time, and found himself exactly where he was supposed to be, in the bunker with Sam on one side and Dean on the other.

“Cas? Cas can you hear me?”

“Dean,” he gravelled.

“Oh thank Christ.” And Dean reached down, a hand on either side of Castiel’s face, and pulled him up until their lips met.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @[oddsocksandstuff](https://oddsocksandstuff.tumblr.com/) made [this](https://oddsocksandstuff.tumblr.com/post/171283847256/artwork-inspired-by-buried-by-omgbubblesomg-this) amazing fanart of Cas look at how pretty! Every time I see his wings wrapped up in the restraints i die a little. You monster!  
> (scroll down for semi nsfw fanart)  
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> 


	4. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is awake :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [gertiecraign](https://gertiecraign.tumblr.com/) and [oddsocksandstuff](https://oddsocksandstuff.tumblr.com/) for being such wonderful betas!

He knew instantly and without question that this was the real Dean. He gasped slightly as their noses bumped, but his lips opened—maybe in shock—and there were sensations that Castiel could never manufacture. Grace slipping out, yes, but also the juxtaposition of dry lips meeting a wet tongue. The remnant taste of something alcoholic. Castiel threw himself at Dean and his vessel—his _body,_ not some dream creation—moved at his command. Where the dream Dean had been only a hint of pressure, pliant like honey, the real one was warm and resistant, grappling with Castiel’s hands to try and pull him closer.

The dream Dean had whispered soothing nonsense in Castiel’s ear, but the real Dean was all teeth and growls. _Thank God you’re awake don’t do that again don’t you dare leave again._ The real Dean grabbed at him, fisted hands in his hair. The real Dean smelled like unwashed clothes and his stubble burned Castiel’s cheek.

“Ah, so I guess the tears can wait?” another voice said from far away.

Dean shoved him against something hard—the door, maybe—and for a moment Castiel was somewhere else, with pressure on all sides, but then he rolled and now Dean was underneath, trapped between Castiel and the bedroom door.

“Don’t you dare leave again, don’t you dare, don’t you—” Castiel took the mantra right off Dean’s lips.

“I’m awake,” he promised, tasting the corner of Dean’s mouth like he’d dreamed of doing.

“Guys, don’t we have more important things to do?”

“Cas, God, why didn’t we do this sooner you— _ah_ you’re electric.”

Theoretically Castiel knew that the sensors in his skin were reacting to Dean’s weight, and firing neurons to tell his brain to interpret the sensation as pressure. Which really was a type of electricity. But he didn’t think Dean was talking about neurons.

“Cas, slow down, you’re zapping me.”

He had a leg between Dean’s, and one of Dean’s legs between his own, and the thing on his cock was humming pleasantly as he continued to grind helplessly against Dean’s thigh. It wasn’t like the dream, because there was an actual body beneath him instead of an imagined one, but the grace slipping out between surges of pleasure… that was identical. And it probably felt like electricity to a human.

He clenched his teeth and pulled back, and Dean took the opportunity to suck a kiss into the bolt of his jaw. “I said to slow down, not stop,” he laughed, a little breathlessly. “God, you taste like pop rocks.” And then he exploited Castiel’s distraction and rolled them again, getting both his legs between Castiel’s to heave him up the door, almost taking his feet off the ground.

Suddenly they weren’t in the bunker anymore.

They were deep underground.

The dirt was piling high around him,

pressing him down.

Soon another shovelful would fall across the backs of his legs and it would be the last thing he’d ever feel.

He shoved out, and there was a crash and then the pressure was gone and he was once again blinking in the light of the bunker.

“Dean!” Sam was jumping over the bed to where Dean was lying on the ground next to an overturned chair, a sharp gash across his temple that hadn’t been there before. Castiel stared at his hands. He’d been underground. The witches had been burying him again. Except…

Dean made a groggy sound and fell into Sam’s searching hands. The gash was dripping blood down the side of his face. Sam pulled his shirt off and pressed the fabric to Dean’s head, but the wound was already closing. Blue light pulsed sluggishly beneath it until eventually the blood stopped pouring out, and the skin stitched back together.

Dean blinked blearily up at Sam, and then Castiel. “Huh. Well. That’s new.”

Sam looked over his shoulder. “Was that you?”

“No, I. I don’t have access to my grace.” The collar sizzled mildly against his neck, as though to clarify.

“But that was grace, right?”

Castiel grimaced and tried touching the collar, which felt like touching a black hole. The vertigo was nauseating. “I can’t reach my grace, but the other talisman is siphoning it from my body. Prolonged contact may have introduced a pool of it in your soul.”

“Super. Am I gonna turn into a feathery dickbag now?” Dean struggled to his feet, wiping the blood off his face using Sam’s shirt.

“You’re already a dickbag,” Sam muttered, grabbing his shirt back.

“Not by a grace-swap,” Castiel hazarded, ignoring Sam.

“Which you can do _without me in the room_ next time, thanks.”

Dean shoved Sam in the shoulder. “No one told you to watch, perv.”

“You were using my escape route as a kissing booth, jerk.” Sam gestured at the door. “Besides, can’t you keep it in your pants for one goddamn minute? At least help me get the collar off, first.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Seriously, Dean. No more kissing until Cas is free. Right, Cas?”

“No more kissing at all if I get thrown across the room each time,” Dean muttered. “Which, by the way, hurt a lot thanks Cas. You can just say stop next time, buddy.”

Castiel frowned and looked at his hands again. “I didn’t mean to. We were underground. I panicked.”

“We’re in the bunker,” Sam said, frowning. “The bunker’s underground but we can go outside instead, if you want?”

“No, I thought we were back there. In the,” he gestured downwards. “You know.”

“Oh, Cas, that’s. Yeah. We saw. But we got you out, man. And Dean burned the whole place to the ground.”

“Do you wanna go upstairs?” Dean’s hands hovered near him. “We don’t have to stay here.”

“Whatever you want,” Sam reiterated.

Castiel hesitated. “I want the talismans off,” he decided. “And then I want to see the sky.”

Dean squinted “Talisman _s?_ There’s more than one?”

“One to restrain me, to stop me reaching my grace, and the other to siphon it away. That was the electricity you felt.”

“Will they both need witch tears? Where’s the second one?”

Sam looked sheepish. “Is it the, uh, the thing down there?” He glanced pointedly at Castiel’s crotch. “I noticed it when I was getting you dressed.”

“Down _where?_ What the hell, man! Cas, what is he talking about?”

Castiel started to undo the string of what he now recognised as a pair of Sam’s old pyjamas. “The metal has been forged out of melted angel blades, but witch tears applied from skin to metal should release the spell that binds it to me.”

Dean grabbed his hand as he pulled the knot free and started to drop the pants. “Woah, Cas. No need to show us. We get the idea. Though I’m kinda glad there’s a reason for your 24/7 angel boner I guess. Just tell us how to help. Is there a counterspell or do you drink the tears or what?”

Castiel flinched. “No spell, just,” he gestured for the jar. “I just need to rub that in by hand.” Sam handed the jar over, the tears splashing a little inside. “Once the collar is off I should be able to expel the siphon naturally.” He carefully opened the lid and dipped two fingers inside.

“Gross,” Dean muttered, pulling back.

He brought his wet fingers up to the collar and grit his teeth as he touched the metal, trying to ignore the tug of it. The metal was already hot against his neck, and it ached in an odd way as it resisted him. But with two points of contact it felt less like a general dizziness and more like he was falling sideways.

He _was_ falling sideways.

Sam caught him as he toppled over and Dean grabbed the jar before any of the tears could spill.

“Is that supposed to happen?”

Castiel grunted and tried to right himself. Sam’s arm around his shoulder weighed too much and he shrugged it off. “The metal has been spelled to resist angelic touch.”

“Here, why don’t you just… yeah, sit down on the bed, okay? Can we help at all?”

Castiel shook his head. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. He raised his hand again but it was even worse this time. Like a chasm yawning beneath him. He groaned but tried to push through, dragging his fingers along the metal. Each movement caused dizzying waves of vertigo and if he had been human he would have expelled the contents of his stomach. He blinked blearily. There were two Deans, blurring haphazardly, and they looked equally worried.

“Cas, I don’t think it’s working, man. You’re frying yourself.”

He pulled his fingers away, struggling to make the room stop spinning. There was smoke rising from his skin.

“Can Sam or me do it instead?”

“Sam or _I.”_

“Shut it, Sam. Cas can we help?”

Castiel leaned against the headrest. The collar sizzled malevolently with every movement and he ceased some of his vessel’s unnecessary functions for a moment of respite.

“No, no, no, don’t you dare do the dead person routine again, Cas. Keep breathing and just focus on staying still, okay? Sam’ll use his big moose hands and that thing’ll be off in no time.”

Nodding made the room spin, so Castiel just grunted instead. He shut his eyes so he didn’t have to watch multiple Sams approach him.

And then there were hands around his neck and it didn’t matter that the room was spinning because he wasn’t on a bed. He wasn’t even in the bunker.

There were laughing voices all around him and he couldn’t see the owners. They were wrapping him in melted angel blades and leather and plastic and soil and their hands were all over him, twisting the bindings this way and that, rolling him as they pleased until he couldn’t move without them.

The metal _burned_ , both against his skin and his grace, keeping him locked away so he couldn’t interfere with their theft.

The fingers got more insistent, rubbing at the metal around his throat, occasionally brushing his cheek on the way past. Every touch tapped the grace leaking from him and the witches were going to _use_ him in the crudest way possible. Without his protests even voiced.

He cried out and tried to fight the hands but they kept coming. They were holding him down. The laughter had turned into shouts and it was going to be the last thing he ever heard.

“Cas! Open your eyes! You’re not there!”

He couldn’t open his eyes, though. They had blinded him. He cried out as best as he could past the gag, begging them to let him go, and miraculously the hands left. He opened his eyes and the witches were only Sam and Dean. There was a purple bruise on Sam’s cheek and Dean was cradling his arm carefully, looking stricken.

“Cas, it’s just us. It’s just Sam and Dean. Cas, don’t do this again. Come on, don’t go back to sleep. Wake up.”

He blinked. “What… what happened?” He was sprawled across the bed, one leg hanging off the side. His foot ached as though he’d smashed it against something, and he felt a familiar pain in his shoulder, the one that had never had a chance to properly heal while underground.

“You freaked out, man.” Dean gave a smile that was almost a wince. “Didn’t know you had such a mean right hook.”

Castiel unsteadily sat back up. His limbs were tired in a way they never were when he had his grace. He felt like a human who had just run a marathon.

“My vessel appears to be malfunctioning,” he realised.

“Yeah, we kinda figured after you kicked Sam in the face.”

The bruise was already healing, though slowly. “My apologies,” Castiel winced. “I thought I was there, again. My vessel might be having a memory recall issue.”

Sam was gingerly touching his face, feeling around the edges of the bruise. “They might be flashbacks, Cas. Both times it’s happened when one of us was holding you down, right?”

Dean shoved his shoulder. “Why were you _watching?”_

“Dean, be serious. Cas, do you think you can distract yourself for long enough for me to get the thing off? I almost had it then. I only need a couple more minutes.”

“A distraction?” He flopped back against the bed. He was _tired_ , and he just wanted the thing _off_. And then he wanted to blast the other talisman into a million pieces.

“Yeah, what if we played some music or Dean read you a story or something?”

“Sam he’s not a kid at naptime, Christ.”

Castiel tried to picture it, but even _imagining_ hands on his neck was making him shake.

“I don’t think either of those things will help,” he said.

“Got any suggestions? Anything you need, Cas.”

The thought of having anyone’s hands around his neck was horrific, but not as horrific as the thought of the collar staying on for even one second longer than necessary.

“I don’t know about music or stories as a distraction,” he said, and he glanced over at Dean. “But I might have another idea.”

 

 


	5. And Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Distractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, many thanks to [gertiecraign](https://gertiecraign.tumblr.com/) and [oddsocks](https://oddsocksandstuff.tumblr.com/) for betaing this monstrosity of a chapter.  
> Also reaalllly early in the creation of this thing i did a beta callout asking for some help (this scene originally ended with Cas jizzing on Dean's face. Sorrynotsorry.) Anyway that scene never made it to the end script but I feel I should thank the two legends who didn't even blink when I sent them a scene of Cas waking up and immediately climaxing. @[robotsnchicks](https://robotsnchicks.tumblr.com/) and @[majesticduxk](https://majesticduxk.tumblr.com/)... god bless you for providing well-needed criticism. The unfortunate loss of the scene lies on my grief-stricken shoulders, and is not in any way a reflection of your editing skillz

In the last twenty minutes Cas had thrown Dean into a chair, cut open his forehead, kicked him in the ribs and whacked him in the arm. And for some reason everyone had agreed that the best course of action was to get _closer_ to the murder machine?

Right.

Not that he had a problem getting close to Cas but… getting kicked hurt no matter how hot the person kicking you was.

He sat on the bed with his back against the headboard, and after a moment’s hesitation he crammed his hands beneath his butt, to stop himself from accidentally grabbing Cas if things got a little… heated.

Cas perched on his legs with his angel-boner just a few feet from Dean’s crotch. Which was a pose straight from the Dean’s Fantasies Archive, but instead of naked and sweaty he was fully clothed and _terrified._

“Come on, Cas. Lighten up. You’re in safe hands. Except without the hands part.” He winked. Cas did not look lightened up. “Listen, you get through this and I’ll take you stargazing, how about that? Nothing but us and the Milky Way.”

Sam made a soft noise behind them like he was holding in a laugh.

“Just ignore him, Cas. He doesn’t know how to treat an angel right.”

“And since when did _you_ learn how to treat an angel right, jerk?”

“A couple months ago,” Dean answered, speaking to Sam though he was looking right at Cas. “When my best friend decided to go off half-cocked on a hunt without telling me.”

“My phone ran out of battery,” Cas explained, still pale but cracking a tiny smile.

“You’ll never learn, will you? Always take a charger, you know that.”

“I had a very long time to make myself acquainted with the idea, yes.”

“Sorry it took us so long to find you, by the way.”

“Sorry it took me so long to wake up.”

“Everyone done with apologies over there?” Sam waved his hands behind Cas’s shoulder. “Does anyone remember what we’re _supposed_ to be doing right now?”

“You’ll have to tell me what you were dreaming about when this is over,” Dean told him, as Cas scooted closer. Tingles of grace shot through Dean’s legs.

“It was you,” Cas told him, bracing his hands on Dean’s shoulders as Sam leaned over from behind, jar of tears at the ready. “Except you were far less solid.”

He only had a moment to try and figure _that_ out before Cas closed the gap between them and planted his lips on Dean’s.

The first kiss had been a surprise. To both of them, he’d admit. But this time it was soft and sweet and fizzy and he was going to make damn sure it was the most distracting kiss in the fucking world.

“Eyes open,” he murmured against Cas’s lips, waiting for Cas to focus on him before flicking a look at Sam to tell him to go ahead. The perv.

Cas jerked hard when Sam put a hand on the collar, but Dean gently sucked one of his lips into his mouth and successfully regained his attention when Cas’s eyes tracked over to his again. It was fucking weird looking someone deadass in the face from such a close distance, but it felt less weird when Cas opened his mouth to lick tentatively into Dean’s.

Maybe in a perfect world he would have had time to teach Cas the intricacies of a good make-out session, but the world wasn’t even close to perfect and he had a job to do, so he set about using every trick in his playbook. Teaching Cas could come later. Distracting Cas could start now.

Since Cas’s bottom lip was already between his, he bit gently at it, worrying it between his teeth while Cas grabbed at the back of his head. They were way too close to focus on each other’s faces but Cas had his eyes open anyway, just like Dean had told him, and Dean released his lip to whisper “That’s it, that’s perfect, Cas,” before licking across the teeth-reddened marks he’d made. He wanted to scratch his nails against the spot behind Cas’s ear, to see if he was sensitive there, but he didn’t have his hands free so he put it on the to do list for later and went back to attacking Cas’s lips, getting them plump and hot against his own.

His mouth was going a little numb from the fizzy electric feeling. He knew it was Cas’s grace and it was terrible that the fizzy-ing was happening without his consent, but his dick was having a hard time feeling altruistic about it when the sparks felt like they were lighting him up from the inside out, running down and between his legs, and along his lips, and everywhere else Cas was touching him.

Cas was panting in little sharp breaths, and Dean took the opportunity to lick in and up against Cas’s palate. He curled his tongue against the back of Cas’s teeth until he could pull him closer. Who needed hands anyway? It felt like licking hundreds of tiny firecrackers and the hairs on his arms stood up. Cas seemed to like it too because he was suddenly right up against Dean’s chest, grinding against him and, oh hello, there was the angel boner again, not wanting to be left out as Cas jerked his hips into Dean’s stomach.

How long had Cas had that thing anyway? It hadn’t changed at all since they’d first found him and it had made things somewhat _awkward_ between him and Sam. Had Cas really been sporting the same boner all this time?

Not like Dean could complain. He’d been half hard since Cas first threw him against the door, and the sparky make-out session was quickly taking things into yes-please-fuck-me-now territory which was… definitely something he wanted to look into in the very near future, preferably with Cas in the exact same position.

With a subtle shift of his hips he successfully manoeuvred Cas slightly to the side and now Cas was grinding against Dean’s stomach _and_ dick. He moaned helplessly into Cas’s mouth and drank down the answering moan that was possibly the hottest thing he’d ever heard in his life, even if it was a little shaky. Dean speared his tongue into Cas’s mouth in time with Cas’s wobbly thrusts, and that apparently warranted another moan, even louder than the first.

Sam shifted uncomfortably behind Cas’s shoulder, doing his best impression of a stone wall, which if anything was only making things weirder. Making out with Cas had not been on Dean’s Things To Do With Your Brother Present activity list. But he was a grown ass man and he had learned to roll with the punches about two thousand punches ago. And kissing Cas hardly counted as a punch.

Then, of course, Sam moved to a new section and the sizzling sound started up again and kissing Cas suddenly did feel like a punch, mostly because Cas buried a fist in his stomach in fright. He grunted and ignored the fight-response that demanded he punch back.

“Sorry,” Cas gasped, wild eyed. He started to lean away and Dean followed him.

“S’okay,” he wheezed. “Come on, come back.” Sam had paused what he was doing when the sizzling started, but Dean didn’t see any way to avoid it. The best way out was always through. “Sam’s almost finished. It’ll only hurt for a second and then you’re done.” Cas was still leaning away, looking pale. “Come back here, come on, you gonna kiss me like that and then leave me cold?” He could feel Sam’s eye roll even without seeing it but Sam didn’t know shit because Cas fell back into him again, looking wounded.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“At this rate I’ve absorbed so much grace I’ll probably grow an extra head, so a punch or two might actually do me good.”

“How much longer?”

“Almost there,” Sam soothed, holding up two fingers so Dean could see. Dean nodded at him. Yeah, two more minutes. They could make that, easy.

Cas did a full body shudder and Dean desperately, desperately wanted to hug him, maybe spend a whole day just holding him, but he kept his hands firmly hidden. “Okay, Cas. Real slow. Same as before.”

Cas leaned into him again, hands on his shoulders, and Dean tipped his chin up. Cas had apparently been taking notes because he sucked at Dean’s bottom lip, and bit gently. Dean hummed happily. Sure, this was supposed to be about keeping Cas distracted but if he wanted to distract himself using Dean’s mouth then he could do as he damn well pleased.

Then Sam replaced his hands around Cas’s neck and Cas just about bit through Dean’s lip.

“—uck!” he swore, but Sam wasn’t stopping and apparently neither was Cas, because the bite was quickly followed by Cas’s tongue delving so deep into Dean’s mouth it was blindingly obvious he hadn’t been paying quite as much attention in the earlier kiss class as Dean would have liked. _“Mmph!”_ he protested uselessly. He curled his hands into fists beneath him and focused on keeping his mouth open and not biting down as Cas tongue-fucked him so hard it was almost actual-fucking.

“Nearly there,” Sam muttered, just as the sizzling kicked up a notch and the smell of burning skin began to filter into Dean’s nose where it had absolutely no right being.

Cas whimpered and grabbed at him, both hands behind Dean’s head to keep him locked in the kiss-o-war. Dean had the urge to reassure him, somehow, but with his hands trapped and his mouth otherwise occupied he didn’t really have any communication methods left. He settled for kissing Cas back. Or at least he did his best to not suffocate on Cas’s tongue, which had to count for something. Cas was trying to devour him mouth-first, almost frantic as Sam dipped his fingers back in the jar and rubbed more tears into the now-smoking collar. Dean could feel the heat radiating off it.

Maybe kissing wasn’t the best distraction they could have devised, but at least he wasn’t getting kicked across the room, so that was a bonus.

The sizzling turned to popping and the popping became a mighty _crack_ and Sam shouted “EYES” just as a blinding light filled the room.

Sam covered his face with an arm and Dean jerked to the side as Cas fell off him, but he still had an imprint of a sunburst on the inside of his eyelids and it took him a moment of blinking in the ensuing darkness to make out Cas’s shape on the bedspread.

“Cas?” He groped for him until he found a hand to squeeze. When had he become such a hand-holder? Jeez. “Cas? Did it work?” He blinked again until he could make out more details and, sure enough, the collar was gone. He looked over at Sam who was holding some black-charred silver pieces. “Is that…?”

“Yeah, it just split open.”

“Great! That’s great! Cas that means you—” he looked closer at Cas, who was lying on his back on the bed and not looking at either of them. Dean’s heart stopped. “Cas?” Oh god not again, not again. He got to his knees, shaking Cas’s shoulder. “Cas! Don’t go back to sleep!”

Cas continued to stare miserably at the ceiling and Sam jangled the silver pieces. “It’s off, Cas. Can you hear me? Can you access your grace?”

Without breaking his stare, Cas squeezed Dean’s hand. Blue grace instantly seeped out and healed the bite on his lip.

“Oh thank Christ.” He sat back down. “It worked.  Your grace is back. Don’t do the catatonic thing, man. That’s… _oh.”_ Cas hadn’t moved his hand and Dean had just realised that the tingly sparks were still fizzing against his fingers. “The other thing is still on?” he guessed. Cas turned to look at him dejectedly. “It’s okay, we’ll get that off, too, right, Sam?”

“Course, Cas. Just a little longer.”

“Sam’ll have it off in no time.”

 “You mean _you’ll_ have it off.” Sam handed him the glass jar. Right. Yeah. The other talisman thingy was on Cas’s dick or something. Did that automatically make it Dean’s job?

“I don’t think I can do that again,” Cas told them miserably. “I thought it would come off if I had access to my grace.”

“I know, but what are friends for if not rubbing witch tears into each other’s dicks?”

Sam sidled over to the door. “I’ll just give you two a moment, then?” Dean glared, but Sam just kept backing up. “I’ll be in the library if you need me, okay?” He sidled out through the door and then Dean was left alone with his stupid, unlucky angel.

“Hey, there, Cas,” he said gently, when it was obvious Cas wasn’t going to speak first. “You doing okay?”

“I can’t get it off.”

Not even a smile.

“Yeah, I know. But just a few minutes more and then it’ll be gone, kay?”

“I don’t think I can do that again,” Cas reminded him.

“I’ll kiss you the whole time, promise.”

That earned him a tiny, sad smile. “You don’t understand.”

“Fill me in?”

Cas looked away again and Dean slunk down the bed so he could lie next to him. Not touching. Just… close. Still holding his hand because if he was going to get on the hand-holding bandwagon then he might as well get a VIP ticket.

“They put the collar on first, so I couldn’t fight back. And then held me down to… to put the other things on.”

“No one’s gonna hold you down here, Cas.”

“It feels the same, though. I don’t think… I don’t want to do it.” His face crumpled and Dean was going to hunt every witch in the entire damn _country._ “They could have put me in an empty room or, or an old car but they chose to bury me. They _chose_ to make sure all I could feel was imprisonment, all the time. And that’s all I can remember when you hold me. Dean, I—”

“It’s okay, really. We’ll figure it out.” He squeezed Cas’s hand.

And Cas squeezed back.

 

 


	6. Above

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! We're just zooming through these now :)
> 
> Thanks again to betas [@oddsocksandstuff](https://oddsocksandstuff.tumblr.com/) and [@gertiecraign](https://gertiecraign.tumblr.com/)

In his dreams he’d given everything to Dean. But in the real world he couldn’t even let Dean hold him without panicking. The dream-Dean had been incorporeal, and he had thought that the weightlessness had been a limitation of his imagination, but now that he had the real thing he realised that it had been a self-preservation strategy.

But he could hold Dean’s hand, at least. And they could kiss. And Dean appeared to like those things, too. Even if it came with an electric shock.

If he focused his wavelengths into discordance he could prevent the grace leakage, but it required all his concentration for even a few seconds of relief, and the resulting headache was barely worth the momentary reprieve.  The thing on his cock was angel proofed and theoretically he knew he just had to grit his teeth through a few minutes of discomfort before he would be free, but even the thought of Dean’s hands on him… down there. He shivered.

The thing hummed and a part of him _did_ want to touch Dean just like the dreams, but he wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t realise the desire was false. The thing was trying to make him give something he wasn’t ready to give.

“Wanna go outside?” Dean offered.

“Are you going to attempt to remove the talisman there?”

“Not when you’re tense as a rugaru I’m not. Come on. Come and see the sky.”

“Will that help?”

Dean shrugged. “Sure. Why not.” He stood up and waited for Castiel to follow, not tugging his hand, just waiting. They left the room and walked down the hallway side by side. Castiel relaxed incrementally. Dean wasn’t trying to convince him of anything. They were barely even touching.

“We never used to hold hands,” Castiel told him.

“We never used to kiss, either.”

“It’s… nice.” Dean hummed in agreement. “We should have done it sooner.”

“I mean. You’re not wrong. But did you even want to kiss me before?”

“It never occurred to me.” He watched Dean through his peripheries. “I’ve recently had a lot of time to consider it, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Kissing and… other things. You didn’t weigh as much when you were in my head. It was easier to imagine you.”

“You’re going to make me start worrying about my diet, Cas. Do I need to compete against your imagination?”

Castiel took his time replying. There was no competition, obviously, but, “What if…” He swallowed, licked his lips. “What if we never have those things?” He tugged, gesturing at their entwined hands. “What if this is all I can give you?”

Dean pulled him to a stop. “I won’t lie, that’d be a bummer, but I’m pretty sure I have kinky dreams that aren’t possible, either. Even _theoretically._ Come on, Cas, you really think I’m gonna be mad if we just kiss for the rest of our lives?”

There was something nice about the phrase _the rest of our lives_ when it came from Dean’s mouth. Castiel didn’t have an answer to his question, so he kissed Dean instead of replying, just gently, at the crease of his lips.

“Must you always find the room I’m in when you want to get it on?” Sam asked from the other side of the library, where he was pulling a face at them over the top of his laptop. Dean immediately exaggerated a kiss sound, sucking a raspberry into Castiel’s jaw. Castiel attempted to disentangle himself, laughing as Dean chased his mouth, peppering him with loud kisses.

Sam sighed dramatically. “Cas can you still burn eyeballs out?”

“We’re going, you creep, we’re going.” Dean pulled Castiel up the stairs, throwing a cheeky salute over his shoulder when Sam hurled a balled-up piece of paper at them.

The air outside was warm, and Dean drove the impala out of the garage so they could sit on the hood and watch the sun disappear. The stars came out slowly. Which, Castiel supposed, was the usual way of things. Though he had no memory of ever watching the process unfold.

As Sirius winked into sight, Castiel quietly wedged himself up against Dean’s left side. The thing on his cock hummed and begged him to roll into Dean’s hip, and he wriggled for a moment, trying to find a position that let him touch Dean without Dean touching _him_. Dean remained quite through the readjustments, watching the horizon with a bemused smile until Castiel ended up with one foot on the bumper and the other on the ground, turned slightly inward with their joined hands bumping his thigh. Which was almost enough to placate the humming.

When he finally settled Dean looked over at him, then pointedly downwards. “That thing uncomfortable?”

“Unbearably,” Castiel confirmed. “And just… relentless. There’s no relief.”

“Well don’t stand on ceremony for my sake.”

Castiel blinked at him.

“I mean. Being hard for that long can’t be healthy, right? You can sort it out right now if you want. Or in your room if you want some privacy or whatever.”

Now it was Castiel’s turn to look bemused. “Privacy is hardly a worry,” he told Dean. “And I don’t think this is something I can _sort out._ It appears to resist _sorting.”_

“You’ve tried?”

“No. You have.”

Dean’s brow furrowed and then cleared. “You mean you dreamed I did.”

Castiel shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Was I any good?”

Castiel covered a smile. “I suppose.”

“Well, jeez.”

“You were… a comfort. You helped me when I couldn’t help myself.”

“You know I’ll help you now, too.”

“I’m not sure that’s even possible at this point.” He rubbed a meaningless pattern across the backs of Dean’s knuckles. “I imagined so many things happening if I was ever freed,” he confessed. “But this… being afraid. Being _stuck._ It’s not something that ever even crossed my mind.”

“Well, ghost-me helped you then, and I’ll figure out a way to help you now. You wanna try?”

He hesitated. “What did you have in mind?”

“Whatever you think will help. How does the talisman thingy work?”

“It… hums. At the exact frequency of my grace.”

“And that feels good, right?”

“It is interpreted as pleasure by my vessel, yes.”

“Can I see?”

Castiel looked at him curiously. “I thought you didn’t want me to show it to you?”

“Well yeah, not with Sam in the room. But if I can see it maybe I can help you figure out how to deal with your, uh, other problem.”

Castiel glanced down at his vessel’s erection and hesitated for only a second before he extricated his hand to undo the knot on Sam’s pyjamas. There was hardly any light left, but even in the shadows he could see that Dean was biting his lip, watching him.

He tugged the sweatpants until they puddled at his bent knees, then sat back down on the hood of the impala. The metal was warm beneath him. Dean’s breath sped up a little but he was peering at Castiel, now. With almost a scientific intensity.

“It’s just around the head,” he pointed out.

“Mmh.”

“Heaps of room to work with. No problem.”

“No problem?”

“If you wanna try, that is.” Dean’s eyes glowed a little in the reflected moonlight. Silver-green and earnest. “You don’t need me for this. I won’t even touch.”

For a brief second, Castiel remembered the dream-Dean, and how it had wrapped its hand around him so easily, as though it had known it belonged there. Tentatively he reached for himself, being careful not to touch the metal ring. The dream-Dean had been confident and quick, but he let himself go slower, tucking two fingers under the base of his hard cock and lifting. He wrapped his thumb around the top until he almost formed a circle, and then he pulled his hand as close to his body as he could, sliding his cock through the circle as he did. He tried again, and again, and it really wasn’t a lot of space to work with, but it felt good. He was finally receiving pleasure from something other than the awful humming talisman. _He_ was creating this.

One of his feet was still resting on the bumper, and his bare toes curled around the metal as heat pooled in his gut. Beside him, he heard Dean’s respiration rate increase, and he matched it.

“Cas, that’s, yeah. How does that feel?”

“Different. Better.” He tried to squeeze the tip of his thumb and fingers together. The tighter circle improved the pleasure tenfold and he shuddered gently. The dreams had never been like this.

But, just like the dreams, he found that there was nowhere for his pleasure to go.

He reached blindly for Dean’s hand, and when he couldn’t find it he looked over, startled to see that Dean was rubbing his palm against the crotch of his jeans.

Castiel blinked and looked again. Dean was rubbing his palm over the crotch of his jeans, where an obvious bulge strained the material.

He… hadn’t meant to do that. He had no memory of this ever happening in his dreams. The talisman had only ever shaped his own pleasure. But Dean… Dean was digging the heel of his hand in as though he was just as unsatisfied as Castiel was.

Dean had done that for _him._ A reaction to _Castiel._

“Sorry, sorry Cas, I’ll stop, I didn’t mean to—”

Castiel lunged for him. His shoulder. The back of his neck. He pressed one leg into the space between Dean’s and almost knocked him flat on the impala’s hood. Dean gasped and braced his hands behind him, and Castiel had no real idea what he was doing but he remembered grinding against Dean’s hip after he woke up, so he tried the same thing. Sam’s pyjamas were getting tangled around his feet but he was more concerned with getting a knee between Dean’s thighs, onto the edge of the hood and right beneath the hard evidence of Dean’s desire.

“Cas, woah!” Dean scrabbled for a handhold and slid down the hood until it was only Castiel’s leg keeping him in place. Castiel got his other knee between Dean’s too and jerked his hips forward as best as he could. His cock bumped against the side of Dean’s stomach. It was an awkward position but he did it again, and again, and on the third thrust he slipped and fell harder into the V of Dean’s legs.

Dean’s arms were tense and his neck was corded with the strain of keeping them behind him. Castiel distantly appreciated his efforts to abide the no-touching rule, but he was under no such obligation. He shoved Dean’s shirt up so his cock could slide skin-on-skin. The metal talisman glinted wickedly against Dean’s abdominal muscles.

“Oh Christ that feels good, Cas are you sure you, _fuck,_ yes _right there_ ,” Dean babbled as Castiel dragged his knuckles along the exposed flesh, still jerking his hips as he did. The fine hairs on Dean’s skin stood on end as Castiel passed them, as though the grace that slipped out after him was magnetic as well as electric. He tried the same trick with the darker hairs beneath Dean’s navel, and Dean yelped, thrusting up into Castiel’s hands. “Do it again do it again doitagainCas _please._ ”

“Where?” he asked, urgent, but either Dean didn’t know or he was incapable of telling him. Castiel thumbed up the sides of Dean’s ribs and rode the wave of Dean’s body as he arched. He pushed Dean’s shirt up as he went until his hands came to rest on either side of Dean’s chest. He edged over to Dean’s nipples and circled them carefully.

“Cas!” Dean cried out and tossed his head, jolting back and then forward as though he didn’t know if he wanted to escape or get closer. Castiel took the buds between his fingertips and Dean shouted wordlessly, the muscles of his abdomen tensing and releasing fitfully.

“These are sensitive,” Castiel surmised, and he rolled them gently. Dean hunched inward.

“A bit,” he agreed with a groan.

“Where else?” He knocked Dean’s knees out wider so he could get in close and press his cock to the skin above Dean’s belly.

“There!”

Castiel dragged his hands lower, gripping Dean’s hips to hold him firm so he could thrust unsteadily against him. Dean tried to lift himself off the hood to meet him but the angle was wrong.

“Here?” Castiel guessed, thumbing around his belly button and dipping in. Dean only groaned, nodding. Castiel shoved at his jeans, trying to expose the trail of darker hairs that led beneath the waistband. Dean bit back a whimper.

“Cas, Cas careful, if you go any further you’ll—”

Too late, the tips of Castiel’s fingers brushed something hard. Dean’s cock, still trapped in the confines of his jeans. Dean’s whole body tensed, curling inward towards the point of contact. His eyes squeezed tight and he groaned through clenched teeth, jerking fitfully for a second. Castiel removed his hand and, as though the electric current of grace had been the only thing supporting him, Dean fell backwards. He landed with a dull thud against the metal and stared at the stars, apparently in shock.

“Dean?”

He started sliding down the hood of the car, though he was brought up short by Castiel’s knees, still between his own. He scrabbled backwards, widening his legs to lose contact.

“Too much, too much!”

Castiel frowned and pulled away, his own arousal fading into the familiar background hum.

“No, Cas no I just meant, it’s not you it’s just the, you can’t zap me straight away. Sorry I didn’t mean…”

Castiel examined the liquid on his hand. “Is it like that every time?”

Dean braced his hands on his knees, still breathing hard. “I mean, if you plan on zapping me right on the dick it might be, yeah.” He looked up at Castiel sheepishly. “Sorry. I don’t usually… I mean I’m usually uh. Better.”

Castiel wiped his hand on his hip. “I thought that was quite good.”

“Good for _me,_ maybe. Sorry, that was supposed to be about you but I, uh. Got a little sidetracked.”

“How thoughtless.”

“Cas…”

“I enjoyed giving you pleasure.”

“Oh, but… Did you at least get close?”

“It appears that the function of the talisman is to maintain a single level of grace withdrawal. I am as unable to raise it as I am to lower it.”

Dean winced. “So, uh. You’re stuck like that until we can get the thing off?”

“So it would seem.”

Dean smoothed his shirt back into place, catching his breath, and Castiel took that as his cue to step back and fix his own clothes. Dean cleared his throat. “We can try now, if you want. Taking the thing off.” He looked up. “Just to see how far we get, you know.”

“What if I would rather keep it on than try?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Then we do that instead. It’s no drama, Cas. We can work around it until you’re ready. Or leave it on forever if it’s not hurting you.”

He thought about it. It really _wasn’t_ hurting him. And the siphon wasn’t so bad, now that his grace wasn’t being stolen and used by strangers.

“Okay,” he finally said.

“Okay what?” The skin between his eyes was pinched. Castiel leaned into him.

“It stays on.”

“You’re sure?”

“For now.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they Lived Celibately Ever After, The End.


	7. Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always to [oddsocksandstuff](https://oddsocksandstuff.tumblr.com/) for the beta read :)

Four weeks later Dean was fast asleep in his own bed, enjoying a threesome with Candice from Iowa and that waitress who had winked at him last year. It wasn’t a particularly imaginative dream, but it didn’t have to be. He was a simple guy with simple needs. He grinned up at them as they moved over him. Candice licked her lips and the waitress skimmed down his body to settle between his legs. When she looked up she had blue eyes and short, messy hair and a three o’clock shadow and—

“Cas, whataya doin?” he slurred, waking up halfheartedly as Cas’s weight fell over his knees. “Din’t I tellyou t’never wake me up in the middle of a threesome?”

Cas already had Dean’s pyjamas down, and Dean barely had enough time to realise what was about to happen before it did. Cas slid one grace-sparky finger from the base of Dean’s dick up to the tip and what had been a fading woodie turned into an orgasm so damned fast Dean almost cracked a rib.

“JESUS FUCKING _CHRIST,_ ” he bellowed when Cas removed his finger, and his grace along with it.

Cas looked up at him from the exact place where the waitress had been moments prior. There was a streak of white on his neck. “You made the sound you sometimes make when we’re kissing, and I assumed—”

“Yeah, okay, yeah I get it, just.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Remember what I said about giving me some warning?”

Cas hummed. “Was that not adequate warning?”

He flopped back onto the bed. “Not quite,” he told the ceiling.

“Are you going to go back to sleep?” Cas’s hand reappeared, thankfully on his shoulder this time, and in a blink he was suddenly clean.

He grunted noncommittally. “What’s the time?”

“Just after two.”

He groaned and rolled onto his side, punching a pillow that dared to get too close. Cas crawled up the bed and took his customary spot behind him, with one hand draped over his waist and a leg between Dean’s. It wasn’t _strictly_ the position Dean had imagined when he thought about sharing a bed with Cas, but it was the only way to avoid waking up with a cracked jaw. Cas said it pacified the humming a bit so Dean was content to be the little spoon even if he did occasionally wake up with Cas humping his ass and nothing either of them could do about it.

Dean hadn’t had sex in _months_ and it would be the bluest case of blue balls except for the fact that he’d never had such consistent orgasms in his _life._ Just kissing Cas was enough to make him hard. Angel juice was like Viagra on speed. Touching Cas was like going head first into a live wire, except the live wire was hot as fuck and also the love of Dean’s life. And without fail as soon as Cas got a hand in Dean’s pants that was it, game over, sayo-fucking-nara.

If Sam had any judgements about the two of them, he hadn’t voiced them out loud. The first time Dean had walked into the kitchen hand in hand with Cas he had smiled, then he’d noticed the still-present angel-boner and he’d glared at Dean like it was _his_ fault.

“You didn’t get it off?”

“Nah,” Dean had drawled, blasé. “It’s really useful when Cas wants to make me come.”

Sam had clapped his hands over his ears and left the room at a run and hadn’t asked any questions since. Which was all for the best since Dean didn’t know how to answer any of them anyway.

Was he in a relationship? Apparently.

Were they exclusive? Probably.

Did they fuck? … Uhhh. Almost?

Cas liked to kiss. A _lot._ And the hand-holding was almost 24/7 which was, y’know, not something Dean had anticipated in his life. But if he tried to initiate anything more than that Cas either clammed up or socked Dean in the jaw.

The plan (insofar as he had a plan) was to make Cas so damn comfortable with him that two seconds of sizzly-silver-removal didn’t result in any broken bones. And the best way to get Cas comfortable turned out to be, well… kissing. Fucking _hours_ of it. And snuggling.

Dean had turned into one of those PDA boyfriends basically overnight. Gross.

Cas squeezed his waist to bring him closer, and it wasn’t all _that_ bad, if he was being honest. He was getting used to sleeping with an angel boner against his hip. And kissing Cas was good. Great, actually. More than he deserved.

Cas seemed to love bringing Dean off, too, though admittedly he hadn’t yet figured out the intricacies of taking things slow. Dean was a very willing teacher providing he wasn’t asleep when Cas wanted a lesson. He hated that Cas got nothing out of it (“I like being around you” notwithstanding), but he allowed it under the explanation that he’d more than make up for it when he could. When Cas was comfortable.

Cas’s comfort had progressed in fits and starts. He seemed to have no trouble touching Dean anywhere, and Dean had expanded his own range from only Cas’s hands and lips to include his cheek and, if he was careful, his waist.

Two days ago they had shared the most awkward hug ever under the watchful eye of an equally awkward Sam, who was on call to stop any punching if they took things too far.

So yeah, he had high hopes that touching Cas would be on the cards in the future. And until then he had a personal hot water bottle to watch him sleep. Which was only creepy when he thought too hard about it.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, Cas shifted gently behind him, his lips coming to rest behind Dean’s ear. Dean had almost gotten used to the grace tingles, but skin-to-skin was always stronger, and his hair stood on end.

“Too much thinking. Go to sleep,” Cas murmured into the sensitive spot, his voice warm and gravelly and sending grace tingles and all manner of _other_ tingles down Dean’s spine.

He shivered a little and told his body to calm the fuck down. He’d literally _just_ come.

The hand around his waist drifted down, maybe sensing where his thoughts were. Dean grabbed it before it found its target.

“Woah, woah, Cas. Slow, remember? And I’m hardly going to go to sleep faster if you’re doing that kiss thing.”

He felt Cas smile into his nape, and the hand around his waist settled on his stomach, drawing Dean in against him. Cas’s hips moved incrementally and his angel boner shifted against Dean’s ass, only a few inches and layers of fabric away from his hole.

Dean tried to hide the stutter of his breath in a yawn, but he’d never been a good liar and Cas had the ears of a cat or something because the smile on the back of his neck got wider and Cas began a steady rhythm, thrusting slowly until his dick slipped to press at the crease of Dean’s ass. Dean gripped the sheets in front of him and gave up on getting any more sleep for the rest of the night. With all the grace zipping around his veins he had the refraction period of a teenager and Cas never got tired.

The arm that wasn’t around Dean’s middle slid underneath his other shoulder, wrapping around his chest as Cas rolled him forward into the mattress, getting a leg more firmly between Dean’s to thrust against him. Dean spread his legs and tilted his hips as best as he could while being held so firmly. He fisted one hand into the pillow as Cas began to fuck against him in earnest. Each thrust pressed his cock down against the sheets.

“Harder,” he begged, gripping the pillow to stop himself from reaching back. “Cas, _harder._ ”

Cas obliged, using his grip around Dean’s torso to pull him back into each thrust. He didn’t slow down or get tired. Each thrust was just as precise as the one before, Cas’s hard length rubbing up between Dean’s cheeks even with their pyjamas in the way. As quick as the thought had come there was a spark of grace and their clothes were gone. Cas’s dick was now almost wedged between his cheeks. He didn’t know whose grace had evaporated the clothes. Maybe his. Sometimes he did things without meaning to, but he wasn’t really interested in figuring out who was responsible because now there was skin-to-skin tingles going from the back of his neck all the way down his legs and his cock was smearing precome into the sheets.

“Fuck, I want you to fuck me,” he groaned, wishing for the tenth time that week that they’d progressed that far. He had a tiny moment to reflect that a year ago he hadn’t even liked dudes, and now here he was wishing Cas could stick it in him.

Instead of answering Cas bit his exposed shoulder, his tongue wet and warm against the skin between his teeth, and Dean cried out as he jerked against the mattress, moments from orgasm.

The arm around his waist retreated, and reappeared between his legs, replacing Cas’s cock. Dean made a noise way back in his throat as Cas’s finger probed gently between his cheeks. They’d only tried this once before.

“Careful,” Dean gasped. “Cas, careful, only if you want to.”

Cas very much did want to apparently, because his finger found Dean’s hole and circled it gently before pushing in, slicked by god knew what.

There were tingles

_inside_

him.

“FUCK!” he muffled into the pillow. He stretched his leg as far as he could so Cas had all the room he needed. “CAS! FUCK!”

Cas slid his finger in a little further, then back out, and Dean tensed up, all his muscles contracting at once as his orgasm hurtled towards him at 100 miles an hour.

Cas began to thrust again, with his cock now against Dean’s hip and his finger sliding gently inside. He picked up speed, falling effortlessly back into the precise rhythm he had found earlier, and his finger twitched delicately, shooting grace and pleasure every which way.

Cas bit his shoulder again, hard, and Dean clenched up and came without Cas even touching his dick. He painted the sheets beneath him as he garbled a shout into the ruined pillow. Holy fucking _shit._

Cas immediately slowed, licking over the marks on his shoulder as he came down. Grace—his own or Cas’s, he didn’t know anymore—pebbled up to the wound, healing it even as Cas deposited more grace into him. Dean’s body tingled everywhere they touched.

He gasped for another minute, letting the sweat cool and enjoying Cas’s lips as they sent aftershocks of pleasure down his spine. Eventually he had to wriggle a bit as the grace became too much. Cas let him go easily, drifting over to the other side of the bed. Dean stood up on wobbly legs and made his way to the bathroom, and Cas rolled over to follow him in. Sometimes after the hot n heavy stuff Cas needed to stay close, and Dean couldn’t really complain since, y’know, _the hot n heavy stuff_.

He was clean already—Cas’s doing this time—but he got in the shower anyway. Cas stood at the open door, watching. Only an arm’s reach away.

“Cas that was so fucking good,” he managed. He swung the shower all the way to cold and stuck his head under the water. Cas’s finger _inside_ him had been like a firecracker right up the ass.  He shivered. “ _So_ good,” he reiterated. Cas smiled at him bemusedly and Dean dragged him into the spray to kiss the everliving fuck out of him. “Seriously. You can do that whenever you want. That’s just. _Christ._ ” He went back to kissing Cas and reached behind himself to turn the hot tap on when the water became too cold to bear.

Cas took the moment of distraction to lean back in Dean’s hold. “We could try fucking,” he said calmly, and Dean almost took the shower handle off.

“We could _what?_ ” he spluttered, and despite coming _twice_ in the last hour his dick was _very much_ liking the sound of the word _fucking_ in Cas’s gravelly voice.

“Anal sex,” Cas clarified. “You just indicated that you would be interested.”

“Yeah but, don’t you think that’s, can you even?”

“I would like to try. If you’re still interested.”

Dean couldn’t help glancing downwards, where the metal ring glinted innocently. “With the thing still on? I mean, yeah. We could try. If you’re. You know. Keen.”

Cas looked down at himself. “I think the talisman might make penetration difficult,” he conceded, “but you have no such adornment. Sex should be quite straightforward.”

Dean turned the water off. “Cas. Cas are you—Do you want me to fuck you?”

Cas smiled at him slowly.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	8. Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to beta [Oddsocksandstuff](oddsocksandstuff.tumblr.com) for wading through this with me.

It’s not that he spent a lot of time thinking about sex with Cas but…

Well okay, actually he spent a lot of time thinking about sex with Cas. Specifically all the different ways that sex with Cas might occur, but also the logistics of it, and, y’know. _When._

He’d spent a lot of time thinking about how to make it good for Cas, how to make it last. The long and short of it was… he’d bought a cock ring. A thin black plastic contraption that looked hot as hell on the mannequin in the store and had promised to _Prolong Your Fervour._

Yeah. Fervour prolonging. That’s what he needed. If Cas’s _fingers_ felt like poprocks there was no telling how strong those sensations would be everywhere else would be, though he could guess. He was under no illusions that getting his dick inside Cas was going to be the sexiest thing he would ever do in his entire _life,_ and he needed something to keep himself hard or the night would end pretty much instantly.

So. Cock ring.

Two weeks and one hunt after they’d decided to give it a go he dug the ring out of the bedside drawer and flung himself onto the bed, fiddling with it to get it opened with one hand while pulling his clothes off with the other.

Cas looked at it curiously. “Is this an implement necessary for anal sex?” he asked, stripping and following Dean to the bed and crawling up his body to get a closer look.

“It’s a cock ring. It’ll stop me from coming as soon as you touch me.” He opened the latch and held it out. “See? It goes around here and it’ll prolong— _hey!_ ” Cas slapped the thing out of his hand, sending it spinning across the room.

“You would willingly put something like that on?”

Oh. Right. Dean winced. Cock rings might not have been the best idea. “It doesn’t lock on, Cas. I can get it off if I want. It’s not supposed to hurt me. It’s just for—”

“No.”

Dean slumped. “Right,” he mumbled. “Sorry. I didn’t even think what that would look like.”

“If you want to maintain an erection I can assist you.”

“Cas, buddy, the problem _is_ your assistance.”

“I can reduce sensation for the duration of copulation if you want. Or I can tighten the seminal ducts to increase the threshold required for ejaculation.”

Well that sounded… not fun. Dean tried to sort out the ramifications in his head. “Uh. Try both, maybe?”

Cas touched his arm and there was a faint tugging sensation in his lower stomach. “Done.” Cas gently pressed Dean’s shoulder down until he was lying flat on his back, a pile of pillows beneath his head and shoulders. “Would you be adverse to this position?” he asked, swinging himself up to sit on Dean’s thighs.

“I wouldn’t be adverse to any position,” Dean admitted distractedly. He was a little busy looking down at the place where Cas’s cock stood up, a bare inch or two from his own. He started filling out even as he watched, hardening up without any further input from either of them, except for the muted tingling from where Cas’s ass rested on his thighs.

Oh holy fuck. They were really going to do this. He was going to fuck Cas.

Cas repositioned himself delicately and looked at Dean’s cock with something like curiosity. There was a crease between his eyes and Dean wanted to kiss it right off his stupid pretty face.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he blurted. Cas looked up at him in surprise and well, in for a penny in for a pound. “I don’t deserve shit from you Cas, but, fuck, I love you so fucking much.”

Cas’s face creased up into a smile and he honest-to-god _blushed_.

“ _Dean,_ ” he mock-chastised. “I thought you hated ‘sentimental bullshit’.”

Dean didn’t have a chance to argue because Cas fell into him, peppering his cheeks and jaw with kisses until he finally reached his mouth. The kiss-tingles weren’t as strong as Dean was used to, but they were enough to get him groaning loudly, his cock lined up against Cas’s.

“Yeah, Cas,” he groaned. “Yeah, just like that.” He shoved one hand beneath his head, and put his other on Cas’s waist, gentle enough to not startle a reaction.

Cas nuzzled down into his neck, sucking a bruise to his throat like Dean had taught him. Dean arched up, lifting both of them off the bed for a second until Cas bit him gently and let go.

“Ready?”

“Born that way,” Dean tried to snark, but the effect might have been lost when Cas leaned back, making Dean gasp as their cocks rubbed together. Oh sweet jesus Cas’s dick was electrified, too.

Cas raised himself up onto his knees and Dean puzzled for a second until he cottoned on. “Wait!” he yelped. “I said _I’m_ ready, don’t you need lube or something first?”

“I’ve taken care of lubrication,” Cas told him calmly. He quirked an eyebrow.

“Well don’t you need, I don’t know, like stretching or something?”

Admittedly, the time he’d spent imagining sex with Cas could have been better spent actually researching the ins and outs of it. No pun intended.

“I’m adequately equipped to deal with muscle contraction and relaxation,” Cas told him bemusedly.

“Well. Can I at least check?” Cas’s half-smile wilted a little. Dean quickly backtracked. “Not like that, I don’t need to touch. Just, uh. Can you show me?” He pushed himself up on his elbows. “Just show me?”

Cas hesitated for only second before swinging one leg over Dean’s, so he was kneeling next to his thighs, facing away. He turned to look at Dean over his shoulder, then craned to look down over his own back. “I used the same lubricant when I inserted a finger inside you,” he revealed. “It appears to work admirably.”

“I’ll say,” Dean muttered. His hand wavered momentarily in the air, caught between wanting to touch and not wanting to hurt. Cas grabbed his hand and squeezed gently, before putting it on his waist. Dean stroked his thumb gently on Cas’s skin, breath catching a little when Cas let him go to trail further back, further down.

“Cas,” he murmured.

“Hm?”

He didn’t have a question. He just said Cas’s name again and was totally unprepared when Cas’s fingers found what they were looking for and two of them disappeared unceremoniously, with just a tiny twitch of Cas’s wrist.

_Did he just?_

“See?” Cas said. “I’m prepared.”

“How does it feel?” he breathed, forcing his hand to relax instead of gripping Cas’s hip.

“Adequate,” Cas told him. The smartass.

“Does it feel good?”

Cas shrugged. “It’s okay. There’s a spot that I touch when I’m inside you that always brings you pleasure. But I can’t reach it in my own vessel.” He made an odd twisting motion with his wrist, obviously searching. “At least not in this position.” As Dean watched, a third finger slipped unhindered into Cas’s ass. He could see all three of them shining wetly whenever they slid out.

“Holy shit, Cas.”

Cas hummed, still gently fucking himself with his fingers, and Dean only just stopped himself from dragging him down. Instead he made grabby hands at his face. “Cas, Cas. Get over here, god _damn,_ do you even realise how hot you are?” Cas pulled his fingers free and tipped over sideways to land against Dean’s chest, sending the air in his lungs puffing out. He barely drew another breath before he was leaning up to plant a kiss on Cas’s cheek, which was the closest thing he could reach. Cas turned into it and, yeah, that’s what he was after. Lips tingling as Cas licked at them. What had he done to deserve someone so… so… _perfect._ He wanted Cas to feel _good,_ wanted Cas to feel as good as Dean did.

Cas flinched and jerked back, reaching up to touch his lips. “Was that you?”

“Was what me?”

“You gave me an electric shock.”

Dean laughed. “About time you got a taste of your own medicine! You see how distracting it is?”

Cas’s surprised expression turned soft again. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

Dean kissed him on the tip of his nose. “I love,” he kissed his cheek, “every little thing,” he kissed his ear, “about you.” He trailed a row of kisses underneath Cas’s ear, then along his jaw and back to his lips. “Every little thing,” he reiterated in a whisper, before slicking his way into Cas’s mouth. Cas sucked his tongue eagerly, humming, then used his own tongue to push back into Dean’s mouth. Dean sighed happily, teething gently at whatever he could reach. Everything was wet and warm and electric. Cas threw his leg back over Dean’s waist to straddle him again, without ever breaking the kiss.

 _This is it,_ he thought wildly. He clutched at the pillows with one hand, and Cas’s waist with the other. Cas raised himself up on his knees and Dean craned up with him, unwilling to relinquish the kiss, even as Cas reached behind himself to grip Dean’s cock.

He gasped and jerked and was totally prepared for an impending orgasm, but whatever Cas had done must have worked because the tingling felt mind-numbingly good, but not so good that he was in danger of coming unexpectedly. Cas angled the head of his dick a bit and Dean broke the kiss to look down, instinctively knowing that he didn’t want to miss this bit. The new angle put Cas’s mouth against his temple, and every breath ruffled his hair as Dean watched the place between their bodies where his cock was partially obscured by Cas’s. He felt the moment that the head of his dick was in place, and watched the roll of Cas’s muscles as he took Dean in.

Dean cried out as he popped into the wet heat of Cas’s body. The tingles were like someone had wrapped a vibrator around the head of his dick. Cas inched down and god, he wasn’t going to make it. It was already too much. So exquisitely good he was half a second away from losing control even with Cas’s extra precautions.

“Cas!” he yelled plaintively, not even knowing what he was yelling for. “Cas!”

“I know,” Cas murmured, “Dean, I know.” He lowered himself another half inch and now his lips were near Dean’s nose. Dean tilted his head up to catch them, surging into the kiss like maybe that was the answer. He knew one thing for damn sure. He wanted to be kissing Cas when he came. He wanted to be kissing Cas for the rest of his damn _life._

Cas dropped down even further and the sheets ripped beneath Dean’s fingers as he gasped into Cas’s mouth. The tingles were shooting right along his dick and zipping down his legs and up his spine, meeting up with the place where Cas’s tongue was sending more simmering shocks down Dean’s neck and shoulders.

“Cas,” he cried. “Cas, it’s so good!” He found Cas’s mouth so he could moan his name into it. “I want you to feel this good,” he begged. “Cas I want you to… You’ve gotta…”

“Almost there,” Cas whispered, and Dean had no idea what he meant. Almost where? He was so fucking far away they may as well be in another galaxy. Just the two of them and this one exact moment as Cas dropped the final inch and sat full and gasping in Dean’s lap.

The moment paused and then, ever so slowly, opened. The bit of Cas’s grace in Dean’s body expanded and suddenly it wasn’t just Dean and Cas anymore. He could feel the room around them. The creases of the sheets beneath his body and the bruises that were forming and healing beneath Cas’s fingers as he gripped Dean’s shoulders. Dean opened his eyes and then seemed to open his _other_ eyes and that was… that was _grace._

Cas was everywhere. Glowing like a supernova right there above him but woven into him, too. All the pieces of him that he’d let Dean have. More of it in the walls, the air; the bunker was alive with it. The moment stretched out even further and there, at the place they were connected, was even more of the blue Cas glow. The grace that was stopping Dean from coming and, just above it, the piece of Cas that wasn’t Cas at all. A malevolent white glint that gnawed on the blue around it, teasing it away from the whole to seep out and trickle away. Dean wondered how he’d never seen it like this before. He didn’t even need to touch it. It resisted angels, Cas had said, but Dean was no angel, and he had grace to spare.

With barely a thought, he snapped the thing in half, and sent the rest of Cas’s grace hurtling back to where it was supposed to be.

The moment stretched impossibly further, then collapsed back down, and Cas was just Cas again. The blue glow was gone except for in his eyes which widened in shock a moment before he tensed up, wrapped his arms around Dean’s head, and bellowed.

Dean couldn’t have stopped himself even if he’d wanted. He buried his teeth in the first piece of Cas his mouth could find and came so hard the world went grey around him.

He was distantly aware of Cas’s body tightening around him as he emptied himself, and the way their bodies rolled in tandem, but he was more interested in the wet splash between their bellies that had nothing to do with his own orgasm and everything to do with Cas shouting his name like it was the last thing he was ever going to say, shaking on Dean’s lap and clenching obscenely where Dean was buried deep.

Dean kept his eyes open long enough to double check that the talisman was definitely gone, and that Cas was still rocking through his own orgasm, before he passed the fuck out.

 

 


	9. Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you read chapter 8? Chapter 8 was published yesterday!
> 
> Teeny tiny epilogue chapter for you all and now I am done, I am so done with this fic. To the shy nonny who requested sensory deprivation followed by TLC I'm _so sorry._ I don't know what happened they just kept wanting to bang I couldn't stop them. 
> 
> As always, thank you to [OddSocks](oddsocksandstuff.tumblr.com) for betaing this chapter.

Sam sprinted down the hall, loading bullets as he went.

Where the fuck?

 _What_ the fuck?

He rounded a corner at full pelt and threw himself at Dean’s door.

“DEAN!”

The door burst open under his weight and he stopped so suddenly his shoes made a squeaking sound on the floor. The cause of the yelling suddenly became much clearer, as did Sam’s desire to burn his eyes right out of his skull.

“YOU TWO NEED TO MOVE OUT!” he yelled and spun on his heel, ready to walk out the door, when he noticed something odd.

Neither Cas nor Dean was moving.

Slowly, and with so much trepidation he was going to make it his middle name, he spun back around. “Cas?” he called, staring at a spot just to the left of where a very naked Cas was sprawled on top of an equally naked Dean. “Dean?”

No response.

With a long-suffering sigh he holstered the gun and took a cautious step towards the bed. “Guys? If this is a wind-up I’ll throw all the whiskey in the trashcan so help me God.”

Nada.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

He took a deep breath, squinted his eyes to limit the amount of fucked-upness he was about to witness, and turned towards the bed.

They were both passed out which… wasn’t normal. Cas couldn’t even sleep, after all. And the position looked really, uh. Weird. Weirder than would be expected even for Dean’s self-professed kinks. He looked like he was biting Cas’s neck? And Cas had his head wrapped in his arms. The fuck?

He grabbed Dean’s shoulder, which appeared to be clean and I’m-not-even-going-to-think-about-the-origin-of-those-streaks free.

“Dean? Are you okay? I heard shouting.” He shook Dean’s shoulder gently, then harder. He was definitely _breathing,_ but otherwise gave no response. “Dean? Wake up, man. You’re freaking me out.” He ran into the bathroom, filled a glass of water and brought it back, throwing it over the pair of them. “WAKE UP!” he shouted.

Dean snuffled beneath Cas’s bicep, and, bewildered, Sam watched as he extricated his teeth and licked the place they had just been buried.

Gross.

“Dean?” he tried again. Dean blinked blearily at him, nudging Cas’s arm out of the way with his nose.

“You perv,” he rasped.

“For fuck’s sake, Dean, you scared the crap out of me. Is Cas alright?”

“’s fine,” Dean slurred. “Got th’ thing off.” He extricated a hand from somewhere and threw a little blackened ring at Sam, who neatly sidestepped. Then he nuzzled back into Cas’s neck, and Cas—or whatever part of him was still awake, anyway—seemed to nuzzle back. Dean blinked at Sam again. “I lovehim so fucken mush,” he garbled.

Sam backed towards the door, making fervent promises to find eye bleach _immediately._ He left at a run, but not before he heard Cas make a humming sound and whisper back. “Love you too.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to recommend fics at the end of mine for people who never want to sleep and just want to keep hitting the 'keep reading' button. So anyway if you want some terrible, awful, how-dare-you Cas whump, you might like [The Ritual](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10763034), by hazeldomain, and if you want some sweet funny Cas fluff you might like [Lights, Camera, Action](https://archiveofourown.org/works/974812), by donutsandcoffee.
> 
> Once again, a heartfelt thank you to everyone who travelled this fic journey with me for the last five and a half months. Shoot me a comment or just straight up shoot me idec anymore. Love ya.


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